close
by ghafas
Summary: Space is just a word made up by someone who's afraid to get too close.
— -

James flinched as the curved metal of the door handle dug into his back, but anything was better than running into his ex-girlfriend. He felt behind him for the handle, keeping his eyes on the long corridor that he'd traveled down, hoping that she wouldn't catch him as he tried to make his escape. She would corner him and talk for _ages_ about how they completed each other, how they had gone through everything together, and then guilt him into a relationship the way that she always did. But he was done this time, he was sure of it. This time, she wanted something that he didn't want to give to her - not _yet_ , at least.

As quick as he could, James slid through the narrow opening of the door and shut it with the faintest _click_ he could muster. A sigh of relief escaped him as he pressed his back against the door, though it was quickly followed by a faint gasp as a pale face outlined in raven black hair peered into the room from behind the balcony door, which he hadn't realized was open.

"This is the _woman's_ powder room, Potter," said the voice in a tone laced with boredom.

"Then what brings you in here, _Parkinson_?" James retorted in a fierce whisper, taking a step forward in defiance of her words. There was a long history between James Potter and Pansy Parkinson's eldest daughter, Poppy. Her almond shaped, dark brown eyes narrowed dangerously, the way they always had when the two of them would begin to argue.

"Very funny, Potter." She stepped out from behind the door separating the powder room from the balcony and tossed her cigarette off the edge, but not before he catches what she's thrown. He watched as Poppy flicked her short dark hair behind her shoulder and crossed her arms in front of her. "Who're you hiding from? Trouble in paradise _again_? Or are you just hiding from the reporters who just can't seem to leave Harry Potter's golden boy alone?"

"I can't help that people actually _like_ me, Parkinson," said James before moving to take a seat in the too-pink leather chair stationed in front of the Hollywood-style mirror. "Besides, who says I'm hiding?"

"Why else would you be sneaking into the women's powder room two floors above where the Ministry is celebrating your father's defeat of the Dark Lord?" Poppy replied with look on her face that made her appear to have eaten something terribly sour.

James _almost_ rolled his eyes.

"Do you ever get tired of making all those faces?" he inquired as he smoothed his hands over the rented black pants.

"Do you ever get tired of being wrong and terribly stupid?" Poppy countered, taking another step forward. She tilted her head at him and seemed to narrow her eyes even further, keeping them on his face. "You're hiding from Fortescue, aren't you? Didn't fuck her like she wanted you to?"

James _actually_ rolled his eyes now.

"What's it to you?" James snaps, looking at the wall because looking at Poppy and her eyes that said that she knew everything is something that had always disturbed him. "At least I know what a healthy relationship is, unlike that _thing_ you have with Malfoy."

"There is no _thing_ with Scorpius," she spat, her voice seemingly dripping with venom now. Poppy's brow furrows a tiny bit, meaning James had this little victory to add to his list.

"A little trouble in paradise?" James mimicked, twisting his lips into an amused smirk as Poppy moved to lean against the pale pink wall, though her eyes never moved from his.

The two of them had always made for a dangerous pair, if anyone would have thought of them as a pair at all. Whenever the two of them got within earshot of one another, people knew better than to stick around. Her words were always laced with malice and his always had the intention of hurting her. She was his arch nemesis, but never his weakness. They did more than throw salt in each other's wounds, they were there to rub it in _deep_ and make sure that the other was hurting just as much as they were.

"Finally realized that you weren't all that pretty?" His voice was almost monotonous, but in the most mocking way possible. "Did he drop you as soon as he realized that you and your mother are worth nothing? Seems like he's taken the same route as your father, since he abandoned you before you were even born." It was enough to get a rise out of her, at least, bringing her across the room in seconds with his shirt in her first and the back of his shirt tightening around his neck. _Maybe I've gone too far this time_ , he thought as he struggled to remain in control of his composure. But between the two of them, there had never been any clear boundaries, and even if there were, neither of them would have acknowledged them. Each of them would push the other further than anyone else would have dared.

Within moments, her face was inches away from his and he could feel the rage radiating off of her. Up until now, there had always been an unspoken _hands off_ rule, though that was because neither of them wanted to end up in Azkaban. Now, however, there were not in some random corridor or in the middle of class; nobody would be there to run off and find a professor to jump in and interfere. Now, it was just the two of them alone in a room hidden away from the rest of the world; now there would be no one to stop them.

"Don't _fuck_ with me, Potter," she hissed, her breath like fire on his cheeks. Her eyes seemed to glow with a kind of anger that he had never seen in her before and poison dripped from her words. "At least I'm not a lost child running around and pretending to be what he isn't to try and outrun his father's legacy so he's not left behind in the dust."

"At least I _have_ a legacy to live up to," he snapped, the words leaving a taste of bitterness as they left his lips. James pushed farther, bringing his face even closer to hers. "You're nothing better than your mother — a _villain_ that nobody even cares about anymore."

"What does that make you, Pots?" Her eyes narrowed, boring into his with what felt like daggers into his soul. "A hero?" A dark chuckle escaped her throat.

"At least heroes have happy endings — so tell me, _Pops_ ," James spat as his hands taking hold of her milky shoulders, holding her in place because _he_ was the one in control. He could the heat of her skin searing into his; it was like she was like acid — _no_ , like _poison_ — and he'd had too much. "How does it feel to go home at the end of the year to a broken home?" He said through gritted teeth.

"Who needs a wholesome home when it feels so good to sit on mountains of golden galleons rather than a mountain of expectations weigh me down like you," she said without missing a beat, clasping her hands in his before digging her nails in _deep_. She wanted to make him bleed for having touched her.

Her words might have rang true, but he would never have given her any kind of satisfaction. James brought his face closer; she thought he might actually bite her. "It must feel like shit to have to fill that little hole in your heart with money because nobody loves you," he whispered in her ear, doing his best not to wince as her nails dug into his hands. The seeker in him stole his hands away, only to turn around and grab her wrists fiercely as he rose to stand taller than her, smirking with victory as she gasped at the force with which he grabbed her — it was probably enough to bruise her skin.

"If you're trying to hurt me, Potter, why don't you try a little harder?" Poppy hissed, bringing her face to his, their noses almost touching. She was challenging him, pushing him, like she always had. She was constantly pushing his buttons just to push them and he would pull her — he would seek her out just to take out his frustration on her. He wanted to _hurt_ her and even worse, he wanted to be hurt _by_ her. They had never been afraid to come out swinging with bloodied hands and bruises; with _her_ , it had always been all or nothing; do or die.

"I'm not trying to _hurt_ you, Parkinson," he breathed, his breath tickling her heated skin as his heart rate seemed to accelerate. "I'm going to _break_ you."

A smirk seemed to fight its way onto her lips; her face was cruel and _striking_ in a way that it shouldn't have been. Her eyes bore holes into his, filled with all of the anger and frustration that had been building up. "So break me," she whispered daringly, her eyes wide and _hungry_ like she knew what was coming next. There was almost no time to take in the angle of her cheekbones as the light came down on them, nor the scent of her Chanel as her head angled slightly, showing off her neck. It released the feeling of desire that felt like it had been hiding under the layers of disgust and loathing. With a breath, James pushed his lips onto hers — _he should have known better_ — and lost himself in her. He dropped one of her wrists and wrapped his hand around her waist as she snaked hers around his neck, pressing their bodies against each other, ridding of all the space between them as if this was their only worldly desire. He poured all his frustration, all of his anger, all his loathing into the way he pressed his lips against hers. It was a kiss hard enough to bruise lips, enough to hurt one another in the way that they wanted it to hurt, in the way that they _needed_ it to hurt.

He pushed her backwards, taking each step slowly until they reached a rough wall where he pressed against her. James dropped her other wrist and took to grabbing her waist, sliding under her sheer white blouse to touch her bare skin. It felt like fire against his hands. A breath escaped Poppy as she arched against him, hungrily taking in the feeling of his hand against her hidden, naked skin and encouraging his hands to travel higher. James felt like his hands were dancing with fire as they ventured higher, brushing against the soft lace of her bra. "Touch me," she whispered, her voice filled with the kind of desire that he had never heard before but made the thrumming of his heart seem to beat so much faster. James pushed under her bra, cupping her breast and giving it a squeeze before pinching her nipples enough to make her hurt, only to hear her moan in pleasure. The sound was enough to send shivers down his body, tingling his cock.

Her nails dug into his neck and he groaned quietly against her lips before reaching under her black, pleated skirt to squeeze her soft bottom. Her hands began to take apart the buttons of his dress shirt, pulling the white material off of his body as he snaked his arms out of the long sleeves. Her blouse was next to be found tossed on the ground, followed by her bra. She reached for his belt next, undoing it quickly before unbuttoning his pants and tugging them down for him to step out of and kick away.

Poppy felt the bulge in his boxers and placed her mouth around it teasingly, causing his breath to hitch and his cock to twitch. He felt her smirk against his cock just before she tugged his boxers down, revealing his thick, throbbing prick. She wants to take it into her mouth, but he brings her to her feet and urgently presses his lips on hers again, making sure to nip her before his tongue enters her mouth and presses her body against the wall. The place between her thighs seems to throbs and he seems to _know_ because soon he's shoving his fingers into her cunt and she is biting his shoulder as her wetness coats his hand.

"Fuck me," she whispers hoarsely, her breath hot against his neck. He lifts her legs and she wraps them around his waist as he shoves her against the wall — _hard_ — and thrusts into her with his breath no longer steady and his heart beating rapidly against his rib cage. Her cunt is small, warm, and _tight_ — it feels nothing like the sloppy blowjobs that Flora Fortescue gave him in the locker room, he thinks quickly. James squeezes his eyes shut as if it will help keep him from cumming too quickly. His hands feel hot against her thighs as he grips them hard enough to leave bruises on her milky white skin. Her nails are digging into his skin, leaving small, red crescent marks as she stops trying to stifle her moans. Their kisses feel needy and urgent. Her cunt feels fucking _glorious_ as he begins to lose the rough, steady rhythm that they had and soon, it's all too much for him; suddenly he can't seem to control himself anymore as something in them tightens. "Poppy — I-I can't — I'mgonnac — _uhh,_ " she thinks she hears him say breathlessly before she feels it too. They push each other into oblivion and now they're falling together.

Soon, they are nothing but a tangle of limbs collapsed together on an ornate, Persian rug. As if he were being snapped out of a daydream, James began to scramble for his clothing. He did his best to ignore Poppy as she began to do the same, only it seemed to be easier for her to get all of her clothing on because before he was able to get his shirt buttoned up, he felt her brush past him and out of the door. In a way, he felt almost rejected as he watched her slam the door shut.

— -

 **a/n:** first time i've written smut but i do love this pair! other characters are coming in later chapters.


End file.
